


Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

by MickyRC



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Banter, Cold Weather, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Sharing Clothes, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), both? both, but he is also very soft for Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: Crowley is standing in the middle of the back room, directly in front of Aziraphale’s desk. He has his arms crossed in a blend between a shiver and a pout. He’s left his glasses off, leaving the exaggerated frown on his face clear for Aziraphale to see. He looks patently miserable, like if he doesn’t get warmed up soon he’s going to keel over.And he’s wearing nothing but his boxers.--Crowley is cold. Fortunately, he’s got a husband who can fix that.Unfortunately, said husband has taxes to do.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 125





	Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/gifts).



> A little gift fic that's been floating around for a while, and finally got written. Love you, Bucky <3

Aziraphale is working. That’s what he calls it. Most people who run shops consider themselves working if the shop is  _ open, _ but Aziraphale has always been more inclined towards the behind the scenes things. Bookkeeping over sales. Back rooms over stocking shelves.

Husbands over customers.

“Angel.”

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale doesn’t look up from his ledger. Tax season is just around the corner, and he has to make sure everything is ready to go. He takes his perfect record very seriously.

Crowley, on the other hand, would prefer that his attentions were somewhere else.

_ “Angel,” _ he whines. “I’m cold.”

“It’s February, dear, of course it’s cold.”

“No.  _ I’m _ cold.”

Something in Crowley’s tone makes Aziraphale look up. He blinks. “Oh. You don’t say.”

Crowley is standing in the middle of the back room, directly in front of Aziraphale’s desk. He has his arms crossed in a blend between a shiver and a pout. He’s left his glasses off, leaving the exaggerated frown on his face clear for Aziraphale to see. He looks patently miserable, like if he doesn’t get warmed up soon he’s going to keel over.

And he’s wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Darling—” Aziraphale begins, but Crowley cuts him off.

“I’ve tried  _ everything,” _ he cries. “Nothings working. ‘m ‘bout to get hypothermia, I know it. Need help, to warm me up.”

“Do you now?”

“Mhm. Outside intervention. It’s the only thing that’ll work.”

Aziraphale considers. He takes off his reading glasses and taps them against his lip, thinking.

Crowley pouts harder.

“Right, then,” Aziraphale sighs, standing up. “Up to the bedroom with you.”

“Can’t move,” Crowley complains. “My feet have frozen to the ground.”

“Oh dear. Then I suppose I’ll have to give you a hand.”

Crowley squeals in a way he will never admit to when Aziraphale hooks one arm under his knees and scoops him up into a bridal carry. But he recovers quickly, slinging his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and nuzzling into his chest.

“You’re warm,” he says, a little bit of suggestion in his voice.

Aziraphale hides a smile as he starts to climb the stairs to the flat. “You will be too, dear boy. Just let me take care of you.”

Crowley practically purrs into his chest.

When they reach the bedroom, Aziraphale carries Crowley to the middle of the room and stops. “Here, darling. You’ll have to let go now.”

Crowley lifts his head and looks in confusion at the room. He blinks, then turns a frown on Aziraphale. “The bed’s over there,” he points out.

“I know, sweetheart. Good observation!” Then Aziraphale plops Crowley down on his feet in the middle of the room and leaves him there to go to the wardrobe.

Crowley just stands there for a moment, perplexed, before he turns on Aziraphale with a look of such hurt and abandonment it almost makes Aziraphale lose his grip on the grin threatening to make him break character.

“Be with you in a moment, darling,” he says to cover himself, and goes back to digging in the wardrobe.

He emerges with a thick, fluffy jumper, one of the ones he usually reserves for snowy days spent curled up on the sofa. It’s one of Crowley’s favorites. “Here we are,” he announces cheerfully, and goes back to Crowley’s side. “Arms up, dear.”

“I’m not a preschooler,” Crowley complains as he does as he’s told.

“Of course not. Mind your head.” Aziraphale pulls the jumper onto his husband, lovingly straightening the sleeves and adjusting the hem. It’s long enough to reach past his hips. “Yes, that’s much better.”

“No it’s not.”

“Really, darling. I thought you liked that jumper.”

“I do. I like  _ cuddling _ this jumper,” Crowley says pointedly.

“Bit odd to go around cuddling clothing, isn’t it?” Aziraphale says idly, back to rummaging around in the wardrobe.

“Ngk—hey, that’s,” Crowley sputters. “That’s not what I  _ mean—” _

“I know, love, I’m sorry. Just teasing.” Mollified but still muttering for show, Crowley crosses his arms. Aziraphale doesn’t miss the way he brings one sleeve up to his nose to breathe in the scent of it.

“Just one more thing, if that’s alright, darling,” Aziraphale says as he finds what he was looking for and returns to Crowley.

His husband sighs loudly. “Fine.”

“Jolly good.” And with that, Aziraphale swiftly leans down and grabs Crowley’s ankle, yanking it up and sending Crowley flailing backwards onto the bed with a yelp.

“Aziraphale! Oi!”

“Your feet are going to freeze clean off if you keep going around barefoot.” Aziraphale neatly slides a soft woolen sock onto Crowley’s foot, then releases it and captures the other. That foot gets an equally warm, though mismatched sock. “Honestly, dear, we have so many socks in this flat you’d think they were multiplying.”

“Well they have to go  _ somewhere,” _ Crowley mutters. “Can’t just miracle a sock’s match  _ gone.” _

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, angel.”

“Right, then. That should do it. I think you’ll warm up quite quickly now that you’re… shall we say  _ clothed appropriately?” _

Crowley sits up, leaning on his elbows to look at Aziraphale. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to keep working, dearheart. But I’m sure if you cuddle up under the blankets you’ll warm up soon enough.”

Crowley frowns again, but for the first time there’s a seed of genuine disappointment in it. “You can’t sit with me for a little?”

Aziraphale cracks and softens. It was only fun while they were both laughing, after all. “Oh, alright darling. I think we can work something out.”

Crowley squawks again when Aziraphale picks him up, but a kiss on the forehead settles him quickly. He clings to Aziraphale’s neck on the way downstairs just as he had on the way up.

“You really are warm,” he says into Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale laughs. “I do get the hint, dear boy.”

“Mph. Just wanted to make sure.”

Aziraphale carries his husband to the sofa in the back room and settles him there with a pillow behind his neck and a blanket over his legs. It may not be a cuddle, but Aziraphale's desk is in arm's reach. They have always enjoyed being in the same room together.

But Crowley grabs his hand as he stands to go back to his desk. “It’s colder down here,” he complains.

“Oh, my poor darling.” Aziraphale thinks for a moment. Then he smiles brightly, indulgently, and sets a hand on Crowley’s cheek. “I have just the thing.”

The kiss is sweet and chaste, all the softness of affection and the sturdiness of love rolled up together, lovely and very, very warm. Crowley gasps when he feels the miracle sink into his muscles and bones. It carries all the warmth of an embrace, even when Aziraphale pulls away.

“I really do have to get back to work,” Aziraphale apologizes, brushing a stray curl away from Crowley’s forehead. “Do you think that’ll be enough?”

“Yeah,” Crowley says, a little breathless as he adjusts to the sudden heat. “Yeah, this’ll work.”

“Good.” Crowley gets a kiss on the nose and a last fond look before Aziraphale stands up for real this time.

It takes a few more hours for Aziraphale to finish his bookkeeping. Crowley dozes on the sofa while he does, happy, and loved, and perfectly warm.


End file.
